I woke up feeling worn out and still tired this morning. Wild, vivid dreams came to me in salvos in the early morning hours and when I finally fell asleep I slipped into one of those “slumbers of the dead” where you wake up shivering and soaked in nightmare sweat. I pulled the curtain back and the white light of the sun over The Gulf came rushing in over my face and unadjusted eyes. I flipped on the radio and stumbled to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
Last night I finished reading Empire of the Summer Moon by S.C Gwynne. A magnificent, meticulously well researched book about Quanah Parker, the last Chief of the Comanche Tribe that ruled, roamed and hunted the Great Plains of Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Northern Mexico for centuries. It is one , if not the best book I have ever read. Everything about it is mind blowing, educational and unadorned with Hollywood shine and dramatization. It is a devastating account of how eventually, even the great Quanah Parker and his people had to bend the knee to western expansion and the grave consequences of progress, colonialism and greed. It sounded all to familiar to me, an African and the descendant of Dutch pioneers who pushed North, into the interior of South Africa and along with other African tribes that migrated South from Sub-Saharan Africa forced the indigenous Khoisan People out of their hunting grounds and territories. The book reminded me to be humble, remember the past and to see through the sly smiles of politicians, businessmen and real estate developers. It is still happening but today it is the fourth and fifth generation sons and daughters of those early pioneer farmers who are being out priced and overtaxed. Slowly, they are forced to bend the knee to real estate companies with suit wearing men with EarPods in their ears and shiny cars, selling valuable farmland and pastures for the development of high end townhouse complexes and luxury Golf Estates that carry names of animals and trees that they would have to kill or drive out just to bring the place into existence in the first place. I am no Quanah Parker but I sure feel like riding out and harvesting some scalps off some of those men on the brochures with manicured beards, spray tanned gym-made muscles and pointy shoes from time to time.
I browsed through my stack of unread books for the next one and my eyes caught Living in the Present by Tom Piazza. It is a book full of stories about the great John Prine and his enduring friendship with the author. I looked at the picture on the front cover and suddenly I was transported back to June 2018 in Dallas, Texas. It was a hot and humid summer evening and my wife and I had flown down from Chicago to attend a once in a lifetime concert by the late great John Prine. The Winspear Opera House was bursting at the seams, not an empty seat in the house. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation. I am sure there were thousand of people just like us who had come from far and had to save up for the chance to see one of the greatest in person, playing his songs and telling his stories. John and his excellent band did not disappoint and he was in a jovial mood, dancing around his old Martin guitar, telling jokes and performing his monumental songs that perfectly describes with empathy, the human condition in its most poignant and raw form. I remember the crowd singing along with every song, I remember the smell of her wild brown hair. I remember her summer dress and her hand in mine. The taste of my salty tears when he sang Lake Marie…one of my favorite songs. I remember walking back to our hotel room with beer breath and the lights of the city forming diamonds on the window after a steamy shower.
I opened the book and started reading the foreword, enjoying that familiar new book smell. I paged to the first chapter and there it all made sense. Today, the seventh of April is the sixth anniversary of John Prine’s passing. I love being in tune with the muse and this is morning I was visited and touched by what I can only call magic. It reminded me that John Prine was never gone. He lives on through his songs and stories. He still drops into my life when I need it most. I guess that tonight after my shift I will walk over to the nearest bar and order myself a “Handsome Johnny”. An unpretentious cocktail of Vodka and Ginger Ale. John’s drink of choice. I will look out over the lights of the city and raise my glass to John, his legacy and thank him for being part of the soundtrack of my life.
JB